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Midnight Pub

What you cannot hear

~locha

~bartender, a whiskey please. Maybe some Red Breast?

Today, I called my girlfriend at work, as she was running late.

Not because she was late for dinner, or because our daughter was asking about her. We're goofballs both of us; distracted, forgetful, always drawn by the things we love. I knew I'd be cooking and bringing the baby home, probably beginning the meal without her. In fact, this is why I usually cook; I can't stand the hunger, and neither can our girl.

Not because I wanted to hear her voice. This isn't me. When we began dating, she made and gave me a bear pin, because it was so hard for me to constantly have someone around (by "constantly", I mean twice a week).

About a week ago, we heard from a friend that he'd received a letter in his office. This is highly unusual for a professor. Departments like his might look fancy, but professors don't get administrative help anymore; secretariats have been put at the service of higher administration. Furthermore, doors are locked. Very few people can get in.

I don't know the content of that letter.

Two days ago, a colleague of my girlfriend came in for the departmental assembly rather on edge. She was escorted in and out by two gentlemen. I don't know the content of her letter, either.

But that's when it hit her: she could have received this letter as well. She teaches the same classes.

She picked up the phone almost immediately. It was a nice gesture.

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